Valhalla Rising, Standing, and Falling
by juggernaut715
Summary: He had been a slave. He had become free. He traveled with Paladins of Christ to Hell-Forest. He had been beaten to death, and yet, was alive. He was a Viking. And now, lost in the forests of Azeroth, Athanatos (One-Eye) will fight with all his worth for survival, battling wild animals, Sentinels, and the horrors of The New Ring. M for extreme violence in chapter five
1. Not Dead!

One-Eye was not amused. No, no he wasn't. And he was lost. And he was damn pissed off at those damn crusaders having called him One-Eye all this time.

His name was Athanatos, and they should have used it...except he didn't speak. He could have, sure, his tongue was still in his mouth after all but...if he did, he'd lose the visions. And those visions were what kept him alive. Or...hadn't he died? He remembered his life being beaten out of his body. He remembered sinking into the mud, and then staring back at the boy in a spiritual form.

Regardless, now he could feel chilled air fill his lungs, the dirt between his toes, the rough axe handle against his callused fingers...He was alive. He didn't understand how, or why, but he was.

But back to the present; he was not amused, he was lost, and he was pissed. The last of the crusaders had died, psychotropic drinks and herbs sending them all into rage and laughing fits that lasted till they had slain each other. The cairn Athanatos built still stood tall, but he didn't know where it was anymore.

Where...was he?

()()()()()()()()()

He still had the burlap cloak/sack that he had wrapped around his body, along with the axe he'd come to use for all his battles. But he'd lost the wraps for his feet, and the boy who translated for him was nowhere to be seen. He cursed inwardly; any attempts at finding another person were unlikely anyways, even if he would be unable to communicate with them after finding them.

He was in a forest, but it was far different from the ones he'd grown used to in the past weeks of survival with the Paladins of Christ. The Crusade was more of a waste of time than anything else, and after all he'd gone through both people who could speak for him, the Lost One and the boy, were gone.

The forest was...colder. As cold as the Highlands were, but the forest was only slightly darker than the one he'd been in previously. But the water seemed to glow slightly, and the creatures that were flying past his head were unrecognizable. Some were bugs twice his size, and others were little wisps of blue mist that seemed to smile at him as they passed. He hefted his hatchet and pierced into one of the logs in front of him to help hoist himself up.

"Ah!" A startled voice cried out when he landed on the other side. He turned around, raising his axe in preparation to end another life, but found himself looking at the boy. "One-Eye?" He asked, pushing himself out from under the log he'd been hiding under. _Athanatos,_ he wanted to say, but he restrained himself.  
The boy stood up, still staring up at Athanatos. "I thought you were dead." Athanatos wanted to snort, but restrained himself. "I can't find any of the Crusaders, so I guessed they were too. Do you know if they're here? No, I guess you don't." The boy didn't read his mind as the Lost One did, but he seemed to just..._know_ what Athanatos knew. Or wanted to say, or describe, or..._think._

Athanatos turned around and began to walk, knowing the boy was following. He cut down the thin branches that blocked his path as he strode through the forest. The blue wisps were growing more frequent. And then they happened upon a rather large cat. It growled, and Athanatos let his axe slip a bit in his hand to make the blade reach a bit further. He stepped forward, and the cat did the same. It had massive, almost tusklike teeth coming from its upper lip. It was near black, but seemed to shimmer purple as the light hit the fur. With a quick coiling of its hackles, it lunged forward, its nose meeting Athanatos' massive left fist. It sprawled to the side, shaking its head. The nose was far too sensitive; an easily accessible weak spot for Athanatos to exploit.

It lunged once more and this time Athanatos swung with his axe, catching the side of the beasts jaw. It lashed out with its claws and caught Athantatos on the chest, but he ignored the pain, and instead reached out to wrap his left arm around the cats neck, axe still embedded with his right. He lifted his knee with breakneck speed, literally, catching the cat in the windpipe, making its growls turn to a loud hiss. Vocal chords shattered, nose functions impaired and painful, lower jaw only attached on the left side, and being choked as it was slammed to the ground, the cat gave up the will to fight.

Athanatos wrenched the hatchet from the jaw, then swung it in a vicious arc several times, and then with his left hand yanked the cats head off. He tossed it to the side, not twitching as he heard the jaw break off as it crashed into a tree. The boy walked over and picked it up, examining the battered nose. He dropped it after a few moments and turned his attention back to what his guardian...no, that wasn't the right word, was doing.

After a few minutes of pulling, tearing, and eviscerating, Athanatos had procured a malleable hide and several large pieces of meat, setting them on a nearby stump. He wrapped the hide, still dripping with sinew, around his body. He ripped the liver out of the ribcage, along with the heart, stomach, and intestines, using the latter-most as a rope to tie the stomach around his shoulder like a satchel after stuffing the heart and liver into it. He tossed a single strip of meat from the stump, one that could have probably been used in a full course meal for several people, to the boy. Wouldn't do good to have his speaker go hungry, of course.  
He sat down on the nearest log, biting into the raw meat of another piece as he examined the wounds on his chest. The claws had raked him badly, but he was already healing. He didn't know how, but he was already healing; no explanation. The wounds were beginning to close up, and they had been since he had ended the life of the cat.

Mysterious.

The boy sat tentatively nearby, only a few spaces down the log Athanatos was on. "Could use spices." he said of his own volition. He nodded at the thoughts that came his way as Athanatos prospected the possibilities of spices found in this new environment. He didn't recognize any of the plants. They weren't that of the Highlands, and nor were they of the Hell-Forest. Which goes back to the first question he mused upon waking up here:

Where...was he?


	2. The Almighty! A New Purpose!

Those of you unfamiliar with Valhalla rising should watch it on netflix or look up a summary. R&R.

* * *

Standing up, Athanatos peered between the trees to his left, swearing inwardly that he had seen a flash of light. Ah! There it was again! He stepped over to the stump, picking up the other pieces of meat, stuffing them into the stomach, ignoring the boy who stumbled to catch up as he began to wade through the undergrowth once again. The light kept flashing, and soon Athanatos saw that it wasn't a torch or anything of the sort, but rather a single golden wisp of _stuff_ that floated around a tree colored differently from the rest.

It was bright blue, and the man noticed the blue wisps seemed to avoid it at all costs, even though they circled around all the other trees without a care in the world.

"Mysterious." The boy spoke for him. Athanatos stepped forward towards the tree, ignoring the voice in his head that screamed at him not to. The golden wisp froze as he approached its epicenter.

"_Ah...another one of the immortal. You hail from the Highlands?"_ A voice spoke, soft, but seemingly coming from everywhere around him. The boy heard it as well, and covered his ears in an attempt to protect himself from whatever demon was whispering to him. Athanatos had no such qualms and continued listening. "_Don't __**just**_ _listen, immortal. Speak. Your visions shall not fade as you believe they will. And...kill the boy, for he is a waste of space."_

"What proof do we have you aren't a demon?" The boy spoke for both himself and for him, still covering his ears.

"_Look at me, immortal. I'm a damn glowing orb of golden light, talking to you. And you're __**not **__hallucinating. If you don't kill the boy, I will, and I will not be as swift." _Sighing to himself, Athanatos took the wisps advice, and turned around. The boy stared up at the looming figure approaching him.

"It scares us!" He cried out, speaking for both of them again, raising his hands above his head in a defensive gesture as Athanatos raised his axe.  
But the blow never came. A loud _shunk_ did, though, as the axe embedded itself in the ground inches from the boys nether region. Athanatos turned back around and leveled a gaze with the glowing wisp.

"_Oh...you wish to keep him alive? And you will not speak. You might as well cut out your own tongue. Trust was always one of your issues, anyways. Fine, do as you will, immortal." _The orb unfroze and shot downwards, now inches from his face. "_I am the one known as __**God**__, the one whose holy land was seeked and not found by you and the band of Crusaders."_ It began swirling around Athanatos, just as it had been the tree.  
"_You'll be an instrument of entertainment in this world, for my pleasure. Don't disappoint, for I'm always watching. And honestly; speak up. The boy will die soon, whether or not you try and prevent it or not, and I will __**not**_ _send another Lost One to speak for you as I did before._" The orb started spinning faster and faster, so fast that it became a golden ring of light around Athanatos' head. And then it got smaller, thinner, and slowed down, revealing its new form as a solid gold chain, not linked, but like liquid gold in a line. It lowered down to his shoulders, and then shrunk, clamping against his neck and choking him for a moment before releasing him and resting like a regular necklace would.  
Athanatos glanced back at the boy, who had pulled his axe out of the ground and was holding it out to him.

"Thank you." The boy said as Athanatos took the axe from him. He wasn't sure if the boy had thanked him from his point of view for holding the axe out, or thanked him for not killing him. He perished both possibilities and instead gave a hard tug on the chain around his neck, finding it slightly elastic but still metallic. He sighed inwardly and began to walk away from the tree to the left, leaving the corpse of the cat behind, and the boy to follow him closely.

The light was beginning to fade from the sky. The blood that flowed through Athanatos veins was conditioned for much colder conditions already; he ignored the biting temperature that made the tips of his fingers tingle. And then, when the light had almost faded, a new glow began throughout the forest; the undergrowth became alit. Wherever he stepped began to glow like a lightning-bug, only to fade a few moments later. The vines on the trees soon became like lanterns. The trunks themselves let off a dim bit of light. And the water in the tiny stream he was now following? _Shimmering like the stars themselves._


	3. Freedom Lost!

Those of you who aren't familiar with Valhalla Rising should watch it on netflix or look up a summary. R&R.

* * *

It wasn't long before another beast appeared before them, lapping at the stream of water they'd been following for sometime. It seemed to be glowing a bit as well. It was a large wolf, almost as large as the cat. The shimmering water dripped from its jowls as it let out a low growl. Athanatos ignored the warning and charged forward with his axe slipping a tiny bit for that extra reach. With one swing he chopped off half the wolfs' face, revealing the skull behind it. It howled in pain, but before it could even hope of retaliation the axe was swung again, and it cleaved straight through the neck, splintering and severing the bone and nerve cord it struck through.

Another evisceration and another coat. He threw it to the boy, and set about removing the organs of the wolf, making the stomach, larger than the cats, into another bag. He used the intestines the same fashion as before, though this time he had the stream, which had grown larger, to rinse them out. He removed the heart of the cat from the other stomach-satchel, and rinsed it in the water, then took bites out of it like a person would from an apple.

He put the liver and heart of the wolf into the other satchel, along with several pieces of meat, as before. And as he began to walk away he felt the familiar tug of a vision at the edges of his mind.

Everything was grey and red, as usual. People he didn't recognize with traits he didn't recognize battled against one another. He saw himself between them, an axe in his left hand, and an odd half-moon blade in his right. Each of these weapons seemed to be for each side. The half-moon for the bright red people with pointy ears and eyes all the same color, and the axe for the dark red and tusked people who gave warcries like no human possibly could. He hefted both weapons in his hands and seemed to be weighing them, raising one, and then the other.

And the vision faded. His eyes opened and he noticed the boy staring at him.

"A vision. And a choice we'll have to make?" He asked for them both. Athanatos gave no acknowledgement, only stepping forward and immediately feeling another vision come upon him.

This time he was holding the body of the boy in a river. The water surged upwards and wrenched the boy from his grasp, carrying him down the river out of the visions view.

And that was it. He opened his eyes once more and looked over at the boy.

"I'm going to die." He stated of his own mind. He sighed and kicked a twig in the undergrowth they were walking through. "Should have a chance." Athanatos shrugged inwardly. His visions had never failed to show the truth before, so there was no reason what he had been shown wouldn't happen. And that meant a grim future for the boy.

They continued through the glowing undergrowth for a few hours, stopping once in a while to allow the boy to catch up, as he tripped frequently; The cloak of skin was far too big for him. Athanatos bent over and pressed himself to the ground to fit under the log before him. It was far too tall and lacking in grip to climb over. He shoved himself forward with his toes, gritting his teeth as the mud beneath the trunk tried to pull him under. After a few strangling moments he reached out with one long arm and grasped something, pulling himself forward.  
He heard a yelp, and it wasn't from behind him. The thing he held jumped from his grasp and he had to scrabble against the ground with both hands to pull himself through. The boy's hands were attached to his own ankles, the damn leech. When he had finally gotten himself all the way through he looked up from his crawling position on the ground to find several of the bright red people from his vision pointing bows notched with heavy arrows at him-except they weren't bright red.

The boy pulled himself through as Athanatos stood up, gazing up at the people with a different expression on his face as Athanatos had had; glumness. The speed of their arrival to these people meant his death was approaching swiftly. Athanatos simply stared at the person before him. He had great mounds of flesh on his chest and a waist far too thin. And he was, rather disturbingly, hairless. And he was a deep purple. The other people around him were similar, all of them with the odd mounds on their chests, all of them thin waisted and hairless, though their hair color ranged between a dark blue to a vibrant green.

The man closest to him asked something in a language he didn't understand.

"What are you saying?" The boy asked for him. The man turned his attention to the child, expression unreadable.

"You speak common." He said, thickly accented. His voice was light, far too light for a man of his height, which, while not even coming close to Athanatos', was still rather large.

"I speak." The boy said, pointing to himself. Then he pointed to Athanatos. "One-Eye doesn't." The man turned his gaze back to Athanatos, who was rolling his One-Eye.

"Human men are such pigs." He said with contempt. "You wear the skin and organs of the creatures dwelling in the forest like a wildman. And you don't even speak for yourself, letting a child speak for you." He spat.

"We cannot speak because we cannot." The boy said, tone changing slightly. He spoke for Athanatos, but couldn't use the proper terms. "We have visions. Our visions fade if we speak." The man lowered his bow slightly, and the other men did the same.

"Visions? I have not heard of a _wildman_ having visions. You cannot possibly be a mage in that attire." Athanatos tilted his head.

"We are unfamiliar with the term. We seek entertainment as our **God** does. Will you provide us?" The men raised their bows, and Athanatos' curiosity piqued as the cheeks of the men turned a darker purple.

"Vile human, you dare to touch me already, and now you ask for perverse acts!?" His voice was pitched even higher and sounded strained, much like the man Athanatos strangled with the post-rope at the Ring. With a _twang_ the arrow notched in the bow he held was released, piercing Athanatos in the stomach. He ignored it, reaching for the axe in his rope-belt, and instead of letting it slip, held it tight. He charged forward with speed no one his size should have and raised the hatchet above his head. The man raised her bow to defend himself but it was ripped from his grasp as the axe tore right through the hard oakwood.

The other men released their arrows and they all pierced Athanatos just the same. He ignored the pain in his gut, his arm, and his thigh, and instead swung upwards in a mortal arc, only to hit air as the man dodged backwards, bending like a reed in the wind. He pulled a knife from his belt and threw it-Athanatos deflected it off his hatchet. He'd never done that before, but he knew he could now. He let the axe slip and swung sideways, catching the man in the leather armor on his thigh. A curse escaped the man's lips as he staggered backwards, axe in Athanatos hands being raised once more in preparation for a final, crushing blow.

"Stop!" Another high pitched voice called from behind. Normally Athanatos would not respond...but he felt something tugging at the back of his head. He turned to look, only to find one of the other men pointing a bow at him and another with a knife held to the throat of the boy. Athanatos cursed inwardly.

"No!" The boy cried out. "Do not kill our speaker! There are no others; **God** will not give us another Lost One!" Athanatos stepped forward, ignoring the arrow that struck him in the shoulder as he did so. The man holding the boy pressed the knife to his throat hard enough to draw blood, and another arrow came and caught Athanatos in the stomach, right next to the very first one.

"I will kill him! Drop your axe and kneel!" The man called out, his long ears twitching slightly. The boy scrabbled against the grip around his neck and shoulders to no avail, and the knife only pressed harder. Athanatos, having no other option, cursed inwardly once more and threw his axe to the ground, then let himself fall to his knees. And then he felt something smack into the back of his head. It hurt, and he turned to find the first man bringing the broken bow down again, catching him in the temple. This time it worked as intended, and black overtook his vision.


	4. Different Visions! Knowledge Gained!

**If you haven't seen Valhalla Rising you can watch it on netflix or look up a summary, or check the first chapter for a summary of my own. Please R&R.  
And those of you wondering why the obvious Night Elf Females are referred to as 'men', it's because Athanatos has never actually ****_seen_**** a woman before, and doesn't know what they are.**

* * *

Unknown to Athanatos as he was dragged over and bound to a tree, the three 'men' began a heated conversation in their own language.

"He's not a normal human." The third said, yanking on the ropes to make sure they were bound tight.

"You think?" The second chided. "Look at his wounds; the arrows have fallen out and scars are already forming!"

"What of the boy?" The third asked, ignoring the second's exclamation.

"Tie him as well." The first said, hissing as she took off her thigh armor, examining her wound. She pulled a vial of dimly glowing red liquid from her satchel and hissed once more as she rubbed it across the cut. It hadn't been deep, but it went all the way across her thigh, and from the look of the hatchet's blade, it would become infected sooner than later.

"One-Eye won't like being tied up to the tree." The boy said, drawing the attention of the three women.

"Why should we care?" The second woman asked, pulling her bow over her shoulder. "That _wildman_ attacked us, and dared to ask for...ugh, I will not even speak of such atrocity!" She spat, turning around and walking over to the first woman. "Shauray, let me help you."

"Thank you, Izis." Shauray said, daintily lifting her leg to allow the thigh armor to be strapped back on. The boy ignored the proceedings and stared at Athanatos for a moment. He turned back to the women.

"He's used to being bound by the wrists. He won't believe you own him otherwise, though he might not believe you anyways, considering he's been free for the past few months." He said matter-of-factually. The third woman, Tiama, smirked.

"He's a slave? Hmph, fitting for a wildman." The other two women snickered, but they all tensed when Athanatos jerked awake.

He had witnessed a vision while he was unconscious. A setup similar to the Ring he used to fight at was before him, but there was no post that he was tied to, and he was not covered in the runes typically drawn on whenever he fought. The ground was very much the same, all mud and small rocks, wet with the water that dripped down from the branches above him and his opponent. The opponent looked like a creature out of imagination; odd tentacles coming out of his chin. He had mounds on his chest just the same as the men before him, but the ears on his head were not as long; instead, two large horns stuck out of its temples, curving back over its ears. It wore no clothes other than a loin cloth, the same as him, and a tail stuck out the back. Its legs had a second joint and hooves instead of feet.

When the fight began he threw the first punch, but the man easily dodged, and brought his own fist upwards, striking Athanatos in the chin. That was when the vision faded, and he woke up.

He examines what has happened while he was out. The three men stand a small distance away from him. To his left he sees the boy tied up in a different set of ropes to the tree he is bound to. He frowns. Flexing his muscles and scraping his fingernails against the bark, he begins his struggle against the ropes. He is tied, but not by the wrists. Regardless, he is a slave no longer.

"We are not bound." The boy spoke, the odd tone coming into play once again. "After the death of our previous master, we will not be again." With an audible grunt from Athanatos, he flexed his entire torso, straining against the ropes that tied him. In less than a few moments they snapped, but in the same time one of the 'men' had a knife placed against the boys neck. "Foh." The boy cursed for him. He hadn't stood up yet, so Athanatos just relaxed his muscles and leaned back against the tree, glaring at his captors.

"Stay still, or I kill the boy." Izis said, taking a handful of the boys hair and pulling on it for added effect. Tiama approached Athanatos, holding ropes. Responding automatically, Athanatos balled his fists and brought them together in front of him. The 'man' tied a far more elaborate knot that used for the trunk-tie. Pulling with all his might Athanatos could only loosen the bonds. Another few ropes tied him to the tree again, though this time instead of around his chest and torso, they were around his neck, and much tighter. Tiama stepped back and pulled her bow off her shoulders, sitting down on a nearby stump as Shauray stepped forward.

"So, One-Eye the Wildman..." She said, crouching in front of him, returning his glare with a leer of her own. "Why do our arrows not effect you?" She asked, pulling one out from the quiver on her back, then poking and prodding Athanatos cheek with it. She pursed her lips and slashed across his face. He didn't flinch. Within moments the wound began sealing itself into a pale scar. Shauray frowned and reached up, scratching the tip of her ear with her empty hand.

"Why do you have long ears?" The boy asked once Izis stepped away, drawing attention of all three 'men'. "And your skin is purple, not red, like the vision. Are the dark red men different colors too? I suppose so. Everyone is red in the visions, even us." The 'men' listened to his odd jargon.

"Long ears?" Izis asked, amused, touching her own. "Never seen an elf before, have you, wildboy?" Before he could answer Tiama joined in the conversation.

"What of the visions? And this whole 'speaker' business, the wildman says nothing but the boy speaks as though he knows what One-Eye will say." Athanatos rolled his eye once more at the use of his epithelial name, but the boy just stared at Tiama.

"We are found." He said. "We must have a Lost One speak for us. Our visions tell us of the future, and are never wrong. They showed us of escape, of the Lost One, now of the battle, the death, and the New Ring." He looked over at Shauray. "Now it is the sixth part; Freedom."

The elves frowned, and Shauray stood up and walked over to the boy. "You speak in riddles, wildboy." She tapped her chin with the arrowtip, and a cruel smile appeared on her lips. "I wonder, does the regeneration work for both wildman and wildboy?" Athanatos eye went wide.

"You will not harm our speaker!" The boy shouted. Alas, too late. With a flick of Shauray's wrist the throat of the boy was cut open, and blood began to spurt. His lips continued to move, even though the only sounds that came out were gurgles and hisses. Athanatos bared his teeth and pulled at the ropes to no avail; they were too tight this time to allow any easy escape without his windpipe being crushed. Izis let a giggle escape her lips as the boy's eyes rolled back in his head and his body went limp, dead.

She stood up and walked over to Athanatos, pulling another rope from her satchel. The man only distantly recognized the fact that the satchel seemed to have infinite space within it, but that didn't matter to him at the moment. Izis pulled on the liquid gold necklace around his neck and tied the rope around it. "Convenient; you already have a collar. And a pretty one too! I'll sell it in town, after I've sold _you._" She giggled again, as did the other elves. She stepped to the left and went about untying the ropes that tied him to the tree.

Not the smartest move; there was a reason the Viking's kept Athanatos at a distance with sharp spears held at his neck. Izis might have thought she'd be able to pull him along, _somehow,_ but she was dead wrong. Just as the ropes began to slacken Athanatos lurched to the side, breaking the ropes around his neck, startling the elf. Though his hands were tied together he could still use them, and he did. The elf had fallen back on her rear end and could only raise her arms in defense as Athanatos raised his own over his head. In one swing, hard and swift, he brought them down on her temple, shattering the skull beneath the skin. Dead, in one blow.

He felt an arrow pierce his side, and turned to face his next opponent, who was already putting another arrow on 'his' bow. Tiama let the bow _twang_ and got a lucky shot; just above the knee where the tendon allowed the quadricep to work. But it was all for naught, as within that time Athanatos had moved close enough to her that when he fell, he fell on top of her. She squirmed under his weight, scratching against him with long nails, screaming and then gurgling as he latched his teeth around her neck, biting as hard as he could, breaking skin. Blood came out like a river, and he ripped his head back, then spat out the chunk of skin, muscle, and esophagus to the side.

Athanatos looked around for a moment for the elf that killed the boy, but 'he' had run off. Cursing inwardly for his weakness, he stood up, pulling the arrow out of his leg with both hands, limping over to the axe still imbedded in the ground. He dropped to his knees once again and brought his hands to the blade, pulling them up and down rapidly, and eventually the rope severed through, releasing his wrists. He flexed his hands and then picked up the axe before walking over to the boy.

**God** had been right; Athanatos would have done it faster with one cleave to the head and little pain. But the boy had died painfully, unable to speak. Athanatos slapped the axe to the trunk through the ropes, severing them. He caught the boy with one arm and pulled the coat off of him; he wouldn't need it anymore. Putting his hatchet in his rope-belt, he carried the boy bridal style through the undergrowth.

Soon he reached the river, as he had in the vision. Wading into the center of it, he dropped to his knees once more, and felt the surge come and rip the boy from his grasp, down river. The blood from the boy's throat and the blood that covered Athanatos turned the silver-blue water red. He shook the boys wolf-pelt off and rinsed it in the water, ignoring the blood, and then pulled it over his own shoulders as an added coat. Then he waded across the river and wiped his hands dry on the glowing green grass, continuing through the forest.

A thought occurred to him as he ducked under a set of vines. The boy shouldn't have died yet. The other vision, the one of the battle, came before. Or were... were the visions not necessarily in order? He cursed inwardly. That meant what came next was unknown. It could be the battle, or the New Ring, or the vision he was having now.

Or not. It was different, something he'd never seen before; the sky was gray, the ground was gray, as always-but the people were _blue._ And they were all pinned to crosses by their hands and feet, heads hanging limply, all of them dead. He stood between the two rows, they all faced inwards towards him, all of them blown up to epic proportions to outline every detail on their face. Five on each side of him, but not all of them the same; some looked like they were out of a fairy tale. One man was half-cow, and had horns the size of tree trunks out the sides of his head. Next to him was a man wish tusks shooting out of his mouth, similar to the cat Athanatos killed earlier.

It was then Athanatos noticed that one group was dark blue, while the other was light blue. The light blue side included one of the men with mounded chests and thin waists and pointy ears, same as the ones he'd fought. But there several other men with the same mounded chests on both sides, all looking severely emasculate. Athanatos didn't understand- were they all deformed at birth?

And suddenly, not only a vision, but **knowledge** shot into his skull, thousands of words he didn't understand, couldn't comprehend. _Draenei, the Horde, The Scourge, Lich King, Illidan, Legion..._he knew none of these terms. And then his breath caught, and he was thrown out of the vision.

He gasped, trying to get some air into his lungs, as he leaned against a tree with his forehead resting on the cool bark. It wasn't a premonition, it was _different._ Not the same. It didn't represent the future but instead...**knowledge**_._ The word came to his mind unheeded, but he knew it was right. The vision didn't show what would happen, it showed him what was, what he didn't _know_, but _needed_ to know. The unknown-unknowns were now known to him, and he pushed himself off the tree with a flowering conviction in his chest; A need for more **knowledge. **

He set the thoughts aside, however, when a whizzing sound caught his ear, and a spike of pain came from his back. Then another. And then several more. He turned his neck to find his back riddled with arrows, and grunted with the effort of just turning his body around, finding more and more pieces of wood embedding themselves in his body. More of the mound-chested men, elves, were attacking him. One of the words he had learned spoke to him even as he swung his axe in the heat of battle: _Female._ Another word as well. _Woman._ He knew that these words described these mound-chested men, but couldn't grasp the meaning.

He shrugged off the arrows, ignoring all the things his body was screaming at him, and stepped forward, letting his axe slip a bit as he swung it sideways, catching one of the nearby elves in the abdomen. A high-pitched scream escaped 'his' lips, and 'he' staggered backwards, blood flowing like a flood from the jagged gash across 'his' waist. More words came into the Viking's mind: _Her, she, _the **knowledge** only telling him that these words were to be used instead of _his, or he,_ but not telling him _why._ Athanatos frowned, though, when a flash of green came from the side, and the _woman _was bathed in a light green glow, the wound across _her _stomach sealing itself.

Several more arrows caught him, this time in the legs, and from behind. One got his hamstring, and he stumbled, caught in a kneeling position with one fist on the ground. He slashed out with the axe once more, but hit nothing, as the elf he aimed for easily dodged his now slow and strained attacks. He might be regenerating, but it wasn't fast enough to deal with all the arrows that riddled his entire body. A large crisscross of ropes came from above, with weights attached to the sides, and slammed him against the ground. He felt his consciousness fading even before one of the _women_ slammed a stick against the back of his head.


	5. Brawl! In The New Ring!

**If you haven't seen Valhalla Rising I recommend watching it on netflix or reading the summary in the first chapter. Please R&R. **

**_Warning! Excessive violence in this chapter!_**

* * *

Shauray raised the stick in preparation to strike once again, but found someone holding it back. She turned her neck. "Let go, Dailie! I will kill the wildman myself!" Her stick was not released.

"What chances do you think you have, Shauray? Even if he is unconscious, his wounds have already healed, see?" Sure enough, the arrows had already been pushed out, and from what they could see beneath the pelts the scars were already forming. "He's damn near immortal. Think a few whacks on the back of the head will kill him? Wasting your time." Dailie said, finally releasing the stick, letting Shauray stumble forward.

"Then how will I have vengeance? He killed Izis and Tiama like they were animals, and you, Sister-Captain to all of us, expect me to-"

"I _expect_ you to calm down and think of a way in which you can have your vengeance and make a _profit._" Shauray blinked, letting the stick fall to her side. The Sister-Captain put a hand on her hip and waited for Shauray to figure out the meaning of her words.

"The...Pit? You want to put him in The Pit?" She asked, a frown appearing on her face. She laughed, mirthlessly. "You can't put him there!" She yelled, turning angry. "I want a choice in the matter! You don't get to decide, just because it'll make you a profit!" Sister-Captain Dailie scowled, her ears twitching as she tapped her hip with her fingers. _1234,1234,1234._

"You pick the fighter." She said, ears perking up. Shauray frowned further. "I'm not going to waste the chance of making money, _Sister._ You get a choice, I get money, and we all get vengeance for the death of _our_ sisters'. You forget that we are _all_ mourning, Shauray, in your blind quest for stick-beatings." A sudden twitch from Athanatos made everyone tense, and Shauray stepped forward and whacked the back of his head again, then leveled a gaze with Dailie.

"He fights one of the Mad." Several of the other elves gasped; the Mad were always pinned against each other, no human could possibly hope to defeat one of them. _Though..._ Some of them thought, glancing at the human caught under their net, almost twice the size of any man they'd met, with regenerative abilities to boot. _He could._

"Oh? Which race would you pit him against?" Dailie asked in a bemused tone. Shauray tapped her stick against her arm for a moment.

"There's that hoofed woman who's killed everyone she's fought so far, right? Her. She'll kill him." Dailie shrugged, an aloof smile on her face.

"I'm not going to bother telling you who I'm betting on. Sisters, tie him up, and drag him." Within ten minutes Athanatos was bound at the wrists and elbows. His arms were lashed to his torso. His legs were tied together at the ankles as well. The largest of the tamed Nightsabers lowered itself to the ground, and in a group effort of twenty sentinels, Athanatos was bound to the saddle, still unconscious.

While he slept he had another of the different visions. This time it was just him, sitting on a stone. There was nothing but gray, except for the blueness of his figure. Suddenly one of those crosses fell from the sky and impaled itself in the ground in front of him. He stood up and walked over to it, placing one foot on the wooden post before jumping up and grabbing the arms of the cross. He pulled himself up, and up, and was soon sitting on the left arm of the cross, looking back down at the stone he'd been sitting on, which had turned blue, the same blue as him. And then it disintegrated.

The same as before, words filled his mind. This time, though, there was some meaning behind the words. He didn't recognize any of them, but the image of one of the 'men', no, _women_, came to his mind. It was their language, their **knowledge.** It spread throughout his mind like a torrent of phrases and parables, some words given more meaning than others.

One word he definitely knew. _Tect, _or in his own language, _Ring._ And the word _Pen,_ or, _ ,The New Ring._ The vision from before came back to him, and he thought of the _woman_ who was to be his opponent. It seemed odd, the concept of fighting a female, but he didn't know why. Something told him he shouldn't hurt them, but without an explanation he ignored the voice.

And just as before, he jerked awake. The back of his head smacked against the surface of the boulder he was bound to. He shook his head to make the dizziness fade, and took in his surroundings. The only light in the area was given off by the torches impaled in the trees around him. He saw at least fifty of the men, no, _women_, he corrected himself, standing around. Across the clearing he saw his opponent, chained to a boulder just as he was. And she was, just as in the vision, wearing nothing but a loincloth. Looking down at himself he found his two stomach-satchels gone, along with his two pelts, and his burlap-tunic, wearing a loincloth, same as her. He resisted the urge to look around for his accoutrements, and gazed back at his opponent. She was growling, tugging against her bonds, which, unlike his ropes, were solid iron chains. He couldn't be sure because of the odd lighting, but he would have sworn she was making her own light.

And then he noticed what lay between them:The New Ring. _Pentactal._

It was only a few meters ahead of him. Just the sight of the _circle_ made his brain pump out adrenaline, his muscles already gearing up for domination of an opponent. His ears began to take in the sounds of the women talking amongst themselves in their native language. A few of the words made sense to him. He caught the word _Wekin,_ which meant _human_, as a woman with an authoritative voice shouted a speech from the center of the circle, while pointing at him. Then he caught the words _Ali_ and _Ight, _meaning _Mad_ and _One._ Athanatos saw she was pointing at his opponent, who was now frothing at the mouth, yelling things that wouldn't make sense to another insane person.

More words came his way. Most of them seemed meaningless, even if he recognized them. But he caught one that meant something to him. _Nuru, Death._ The way the women around the circle raised their hands and cheered was unsettling. That never happened at The Old Ring, the _Hextactal._ It was always silent, then, except for the grunts and cries of the men he fought. He knew what she meant when she said _Death._ This fight was the same as all he'd had before; till he had killed the other person, or died trying. That voice kept coming back, something _wrong_ about fighting a female, but he still ignored it.

One final word, he caught. But the woman didn't even say it. It seemed to emanate from the surroundings, and it wasn't in their language anyways. _Entertainment._ He almost snorted. **God **would get his entertainment alright. Maybe if he was pleased enough, he'd give Athanatos another Lost One. Unlikely.

The woman's speech ended, and another round of cheering came from the women in the group. As Athanatos watched, they started pulling coins out of bags on their waists and threw them into large piles, shouting words that he had only one meaning for. _Lehir,Bet._ They were betting on who would win, judging from the two piles that were forming. The pile for his opponent was significantly bigger than his. Only three people put money into his, but they _emptied_ their bags into it, with smirks on their faces. He couldn't appreciate being bet upon, but he admired their courage against the pressure of their peers.

"You, Wildman!" Someone shouted at him, coming over. It was the woman who made the speech. Her 'Common' as he recalled it being referred to, was barely accented. "The Sister-Captain mentioned something about you being a fighter before, eh? Put up a good one, and maybe we'll set you go!" She knelt before him. "I bet you had a way you were put into the ring, or something, ah?" She used those after-sounds a lot, adding to her colloquialism. "Tell me. They must have ushered you in with a stick or something, huh, wildman?"

The Viking cursed inwardly. He could use a speaker right now. Perhaps _now_ was when he should start believing **God** and his promise about the visions. A slap to his face confirmed his suspicions. "Speak up, wildman!" But he didn't. No, he wouldn't trust that deity for all his worth in the golden chain around his neck, which, for some reason, no one had removed. The woman slapped him once more. "Stupid human." She muttered, standing back up. "Release the wildman!" She shouted, waving her hand as she stepped to the side.

Athanatos felt the ropes that bound his torso and waist to the boulder. He shook himself, then stood up, almost tumbling over when he found himself unable to balance; his arms were still bound to his sides. He cursed inwardly, leering around at the crowd. Then he felt the ropes slacken. He heard the scratching noise that a knife made when cutting thick rope from behind, cutting another rope that held his forearms to his body. He turned his neck and his eye widened.

_She_ was just like the boy. The same half-dead eyes, the same expressionless look on her face, even when she was releasing a prisoner. And she wasn't an elf, nor the odd species chained to the boulder opposite him, but a _human._ He wondered for a moment if she was a Lost One, but the way she monotonously went about her task spoke otherwise. When the last of the ropes were off he flexed his arms and spun around, grabbing her by the throat. He glanced at the crowd. None of them bothered to make a motion to protect the..._girl, _the **knowledge **told him. Making her a hostage was pointless, as they didn't seem to care, so he released her neck. He hadn't even noticed he'd raised her, and she fell to the ground in a heap. He heard something snap, and a hiss of pain as she examined one of her fingers that was _not_ pointing the right direction.

His eyes widened once more. Her wrists were just as thin as the boys, if not thinner. _He_ had been malnourished, for sure, but this girl? Even worse. But before he could examine her any further he heard a shout from the Ringleader. "Release the Draenei!" The girl stood up, ignoring her broken finger as she palmed the knife she'd used to cut his ropes, and then walked across the ring to the Mad-One, who was still thrashing around, banging _her_ horns against the boulder behind her. As the girl approached she only got more violent.

With the knife the girl reached up and poked it into an odd piece of metal with a hole in it. A clicking sound echoed throughout the Ring, and the chains holding the woman back fell to the floor. With one deft motion a hoof lashed out and slammed into the girls chest, sending her back into the center of the ring. The _Draenei_ stood up, and Athanatos found himself looking at an opponent almost as tall as he was. She stepped forward and he truly examined her, flicking his wrists to get them loose in preparation for overuse. She was _glowing._ The same as the water from the streams, she was _glowing._ Words flowed into his head as he looked up and down her frame as she stepped into the ring.

_ Moonwell. Over-exposure. Taint. Insanity. Semi-immortal._ That last bit made his eye narrow. This would not be a simple beat down. With a war-cry the woman bent down and sprinted towards him, kicking the girl out of the ring as she did so, hooves kicking up wet rocks and mud as she barreled at him. The girl crashed into several members of the audience, who let her fall to the ground and continued cheering. Lowering himself to the ground, Athanatos rolled to the side. He hadn't even entered the Ring yet. She crashed face-first into the boulder he had been tied to, but didn't slow down for a second. She turned around and lashed out at him with her fists like a wild animal, forcing him back into the ring.

And now the vision came into play, mirroring what happened as they began their brawl. He threw a punch aimed right for her jaw, but she dodged and brought her own fist into his chest. Unlike the arrows which pierced his skin and felt like flea bites, this one blow _hurt._ He staggered back, but had no time to rest. Raising both hands he blocked her tomahawk strike with a cross, catching her fists between his wrists. He planted his right foot behind him and grunted, forcing the woman off balance. As she lost her footing Athanatos stepped forward, planting that right foot right between her legs, and brought his left fist into her stomach. It felt like hitting a stone wall-but that stone wall was nothing to him. She spat out glowing-red blood in his face.

He didn't have the chance to let another punch off; she found her footing and then reached out with both hands too fast for him to counter, latching them both to his shoulders and using her forward momentum to force him to the ground. For a few moments they struggled, trying to get their bearings, but being the more seasoned fighter, and still having a brain, Athanatos gained his senses first. He swung with his left hand, open palmed, against the side of her head, clapping her on the ear. She howled in pain as the force of the blow shattered her eardrum; perhaps unlikely for a regular human to accomplish, but Athanatos was _not_ a regular human.

He had been a slave for as long as he could remember. He had become free. He had traveled with Paladins of Christ to the Hell-Forest. He had been beaten to death. He was a **Viking.**

Gaining her own senses, the Draenei opened her mouth, revealing sharp _fangs._ Athanatos brought his right forearm in front of his neck just in time, and let out a hiss of pain as she crunched down. She entwined one of her hands in his hair and the other scratched against his face, trying to get at his remaining eye. Raising a knee he raised her body, and then raising the other, swifter, he kneed her in the stomach, hard enough to make her weaken the bite and stop trying to rip his face off. She still had an iron grip on his hair though, but losing a patch of hair was not one of Athanatos' concerns. He swung himself to the right, flipping their positions.

Before he could even hope of wrenching his arm from her bite he felt a hoof connect with his stomach. He spat bile into her hair, and then used his body weight to his advantage, pinning her legs to the ground as he raised his left fist and used it to hold her right arm to the ground. She scratched against his arm, still, as he had it pinned by the back-arm, not at the joint. Her other hand was still in his hair, trying to pull his head off to no avail. Baring his teeth he lowered himself to her face, opening his mouth, and brought his lips to her eye socket, ignoring her struggle as he forced his teeth around the eyeball and then chewed.

Her muffled screams were music to his ears; she released his arm from her fangs. But then she lurched upwards and connected her forehead to his, and he learned new respect for the phrase "Hard-Headed". Thrown off, and disoriented, he fell backwards on the mud behind him. She continued screaming, a hand over her now _piece_ of an eye. He spat out the chunk he'd managed to get his teeth around, and then forced himself upwards.

He stepped forward, only to have a hoof connect with his shin as she squirmed around on the ground. He fell forward on one knee, groaning and rolling his eye at the pain he hadn't felt in ages. She gained control of her body and righted herself, taking in the fact he was within kicking range. She splayed out with both feet, pushing herself forward with her hands, connecting both with his face and his chest, sending him backwards. She stood up and began shouting unintelligible words, stomping the ground and kicking dirt in his direction as he pushed himself off the ground. And they lunged for each other again, connecting in the center of the ring with his forehead to hers', their hands' fingers interlaced with each others as they muscled against each other in a battle of brawns.

Athanatos pushed with all his might, his toes digging into the mud behind him, and the Mad-One did the same. Releasing both of their hands and disconnecting their foreheads they leveled a punch with each other that made them both spit out a tooth. But the Draenei faltered for a moment, her right leg giving out as the punch to her jaw made her lose control of her motor functions. Seeing the opening, Athanatos reached out with both hands and grabbed her by the horns, then yanked her head upwards, lifting her off the ground for a moment...just before slamming her down. She coughed out more glowing blood as she connected with the mud and stones.

Wasting no time with catching his breath, Athanatos stepped to the left and then fell to his right, letting his leg collapse under him. His knee pinned her to the ground at the neck, and he switched his grip around to maintain a hold of her horns. She scrabbled against the ground with her hands, tail flailing wildly as he raised up again and brought his knee down again on her neck. Her eyes went wide and she tried to push herself up off the ground, but he came down again.

With a grunt, Athanatos twisted the head of the Mad-One by the horns, still pinning her to the ground by the neck with his knee. She started hyperventilating, breath coming out in frantic panting. Her endeavor to survive became more desperate as her neck turned in a way that it _definitely_ wasn't supposed to. A loud crack was heard, and the struggle stopped.

Athanatos let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He released the horns of the woman and pushed himself off of her, feeling pains he hadn't felt since he'd fought in The Old Ring rattle through his body. For whatever reason, the attacks of _this_ person didn't fix themselves so quick. Memories flashed through Athanatos mind.

"_Ah, another one of the immortal." _His eye opened wide as he sat up straight. One of the words he heard while observing the Draenei had been _Semi-immortal._ Makes sense, of course, that similarly _immortal_ or _semi-immortal_ people could hurt each other, even if they could not die, in Athanatos case. The realization struck him like a trunk of a tree falling on top of him.

He couldn't die.

Athanatos blinked a few times, letting the realization sink in, and then his ears began taking in sounds other than his own heavy breathing. The crowd was cheering, all of them with their hands raised and grins on their faces, even though most of them had lost their money. He ignored their noise and focused on the body in front of him. Something told him he shouldn't have hurt her, but he still didn't have an explanation why. Though, a feeling he didn't quite understand flowed through him when he examined the curves of the _woman's_ body. He'd never felt it before, even when the other women were before him. Perhaps the **knowledge** only started effecting him in that category now-the category of a lustful, primal urge he'd never felt before.

But he shrugged off the feeling, shutting out the images that entered his mind, and instead turned to look up at the figure approaching him.


End file.
